Grains of Sand
by Erendis Black
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets, mostly AU and yaoi friendly. [Riku, Sora, Axel, Roxas, Kairi, Namine, Cloud, Leon, others]
1. Click

·§·§·§·

He opened his eyes and he was underwater again, so he assumed he was dreaming again. He had to be. There was no way this was real, his mind said, awed, frenzied, thrilled.

_It wasn't supposed to be _this_ way…_ another part of his brain told him, in a whisper that was promptly stomped on, locked away and forgotten. Because right now, _this_ was all he wanted. Their lips fastened to each other, their breathing altered, unadjusted, inexistent on this underwater vision.

Eventually, his lungs screamed, raged, trashed. He felt like he was going to implode, but his fingers were still seeking for the hidden crevices of the other's clothing to hold on to, his arms sneaking up his back, lacing them together. And yet, he wouldn't let go. If the dream had to end… well, he'd end it on his terms.

The other boy's lips broke away from his own and in the younger one's mind, the tally of their ongoing competition came up: Sora 1, Riku 0. He had won! The older boy had given up first. And then he remembered… oxygen!

They both kicked off the ocean's floor and made for the surface. Sora inhaled, but the breath of life didn't seem as sweet as it used to be. He knew now, his oxygen was elsewhere.

_But when you open your eyes, he won't be there,_ that small portion of his brain snickered and Sora hurried to open his eyes, shaking his dripping bangs, eager to prove himself wrong. And indeed, Riku was still there. Just as soaked as Sora and looking just as incredulous.

Had the space between dream and reality really been breached? Well, maybe it had, but reality was going to kick in now. Riku was certain. Sora would yell both their heads off and then storm away, probably to find solace in Kairi.

So… if Sora was about to unleash his righteous anger on the overtly bold Riku, why did he keep getting closer and closer, with that predatory look on his face? Suddenly, and for the first time in Riku's short life, he was afraid of his best friend.

"Why ever," --Sora sloshed forward, making a b-line for Riku-- "did you think," --the brown-haired boy put his hands on his hips-- "that you could stop kissing me just like that, huh?" He shook hair out of his eyes and went on, now wagging an accusatory finger in Riku's direction. "You're supposed to be the one that never quits!"

"Er," Riku hesitated, wondering briefly if he had heard Sora correctly and, if so, what excuse could he possibly give. "We were about to drown?" he offered, a hint of his usual smirk forming on his face.

"Oh." Sora blinked, deflating. "Okay."

They stared at each other for a while; reality was seeping in, filling them in the same way water had threatened to fill their lungs, moments ago.

Sora's fingers curled and uncurled, undecided fists. _I want him to, but what if he's regretting it?_ He took a difficult step forward, still knee-deep in the revolving water. His eyes zeroed in on his target: the other's still wet lips.

Riku glanced away, white noise enveloping his mind. _I want to, but what if he rejects me now?_ The dead weight of soaked clothing wanted to drag him down again. Yet… almost gravitationally, he felt himself move forward, his outstretched arms eager to circle the other's slim waist.

So they met halfway, with the force of a tidal wave. And this time, their embrace felt like an interlocking of keys and tumblers, all falling neatly into place with a satisfying, and nearly audible, _click_.

·§·§·§·


	2. Oblivion

·§·§·§·

The blade spun endlessly, describing a deadly arc towards him, cutting off raindrops as easily as it had sliced the Shadows.

His hand shot out and grabbed it in one graceful movement, so careful, so timed. As if they had practiced it a million times. His gloved fingers closed around the hilt of the Keyblade and he almost felt the need to take off the blindfold and see the spectacle with his own eyes. But his mind saw enough.

One rising, one diving. Oathkeeper and Oblivion. Two sides. Two stories.

He spread his arms as he rushed down, headlong into the waiting sea of shadows. Their eyes glowed, but he could not see them. And he did not care. He had only one task.

And Oblivion was there to aid him as he landed boldly on the wet pavement, ready to engage the shadows in a deathly ballet of controlled slashes and sweeps, sprinting and spinning effortlessly.

They would find each other again. And this time, they would go together.

But for now… Oblivion would do.

·§·§·§·


	3. Crush

·§·§·§·

He had asked Kairi if he could kiss her. The girl had blushed, giggled and then puckered up prettily. He had been pleased and nearly excited. His first kiss! And he liked Kairi. Or he had. It didn't matter. He only wanted to label this feeling he had discovered on himself a few months back. This _something_ that flared up whenever he was around his two best friends.

Odd, the feeling hadn't been there when he had asked Kairi. He was completely at ease, that coolness he felt when he trained had settled in. He knew what it was; his mind was completely focused on achieving a goal. Total concentration.

And he had been successful on this task also. When he broke away from the kiss, Kairi had had a slightly dazzled look on her face, which had then been quickly replaced by a smile of contentment. He supposed that was good and she looked pleased, too. In the silence that had followed, he had searched himself thoroughly… the feeling, this _something_ was still there, but it was totally unrelated to Kairi. And he still couldn't find a name for it.

The companionable silence between them had been shattered by the sound of heavy footfalls on the wooden planks of the dock. A cheery voice had called out to them and they had turned around to wave back.

And then that feeling had slammed into him, full force. That _something_, that jolt that shook his insides every time… ah, every time _he_ -not she- was around.

"Hey, Sora."

Riku had found a word for it.

Crush.

_·§·§·§·_


	4. Dawn

"Where is Sora?"

'_Sora is lost,'_ _the voice said._

"I will find him."

'_How?' The voice asked, malicious. 'You are lost, too.'_

"I am not lost."

'_Oh? So you know where you are?'_

"That doesn't matter. I'm living my adventure, like I wanted. And when I find Sora—"

'_What if he does not want to be found?' The voice was growing softer, seductive._

"That's stupid. If he's lost, he'll want to be found. And I'm the right person to find him."

'_And what about _her_?' _

"Kairi?" Silence. "Kairi is safe. What about her?"

'_Maybe _she_ will find Sora before you do.'_

"Don't try to trick me or make me jealous. That doesn't work anymore."

'_Ah,' the voice was undoubtedly amused. 'So you have grown past petty jealousies?'_

"I don't know. Maybe I did."

'_That is wonderful, Riku,' the voice purred. 'What else have you outgrown? Little crushes, perhaps?'_

Snarl. "I've certainly outgrown _you_. Now show me the way out."

The voice chuckled. 'Now, that would be awfully nice of me, and I do not enjoy nice and easy. Wake up and fend for yourself, dear boy.'

§···§···§

Riku woke up sprawled on the ground, apparently having fallen asleep on the middle of a meadow of high grass. Far above him, the night sky brimmed with stars. He sat up after a moment, hugging his coat tighter to himself; feeling suddenly unprotected, Riku drew his hood up, fiddling with the silvery laces that fastened the leathery garment. He looked around, still too faint to get to his feet. Lately, that was the way he felt when he woke up: instead of calm and rested, he felt threatened and shaky. It wasn't a welcome feeling and Riku wished he could tell someone, but he was alone. The King had left in a hurry some time ago, and while he had promised to come back to him, Riku felt doubly alone now.

He lay back down, resting amid the cool grass. The inky night sky reminded him of home, of Destiny Islands, the Sea, his friends, lost things. Sora.

Riku closed his eyes. He didn't want to fall asleep again, because the haunting dream would surely return, but he didn't want to see the sky either. His eyes flicked open again and he scanned his surroundings; someone was nearby. Riku crawled on to his knees. That unknown man was there again. The one in the crimson attire. DiZ.

"Your friend is close, Riku," he said calmly.

"Sora! Where?" Riku sprang to his feet, wobbliness and loneliness forgotten.

The man moved away, almost gliding over the grass. "Not close enough."

Riku followed, already growing impatient. "But he is on this world! Tell me, which path? I'll go. I don't care how far!"

"He is on a _plane_ of this world. Not the same as we are."

"Dammit! I don't care!" Riku spat to the man, as he stood before him blocking his path. The man's shoulders twitched. Was he laughing? "Tell me where Sora is," Riku ground out, snarling.

"I cannot tell you, because I do not know," the man waved a gloved hand. "He is already moving away with the rest of his Trinity."

Riku opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He suddenly felt deflated. "When will I see him, then?" The silver-haired boy knew he sounded childish and so very young just then. And truly, he felt it. He just wanted to see his best friend again; if Sora smiled at him, everything would be all right.

Riku's companion started to move away again. "You will see him when your time comes. You said you wanted to walk the road to dawn, yes? Well, the Keyblade master has a long way to go, but he will meet you at the road's end."

Riku stared after the retreating figure of the man, hesitating for a moment. Then he turned his head to where his heart told him that Sora was, even if in another 'plane' of existence. With one last look at the green fields and the starry sky, Riku sank his hands into his coat pockets and followed after the man.

Their time would come.

§···§···§

"I had to be the best so you would look up to me, Sora."

They were on the little island with the bent tree and Sora was sitting on the lowest end of its trunk, watching Riku kick sand around as the older boy made his speech.

"If I can't get you to look up to me, how else are you going to look at me?" His tone had a definite pleading edge to it and that in itself was unlike Riku. Riku was imperious, demanding; he commanded and dominated. He would never plead. Not even to Sora.

Silver hair glinting fiercely beneath the morning sun, Riku took a step closer to his friend, faced him and looked straight into the younger boy's eyes. "How would you even look at me?" He whispered, brokenly.

Sora smiled, a bright and full grin that lit his entire face, as he stretched out his arms to grasp Riku by his bare shoulders; they were almost at the same height now, in a way they never would be hadn't Sora been sitting on a high place.

"I would look at you like this," he said, winking at his older friend. "Eye to eye, Riku. Because that's the way friends look at each other."

Riku had then looked at Sora in the eye for a long time, carefully studying the blue circlet around the boy's pupils. At last, he had discovered that Sora was right. Surprisingly, amazingly, incredibly… Sora had been right. And for the first time in a long, long time, Riku didn't want to challenge him on this, didn't want to refuse nor deny it.

·§·

But as it happens with most revelations, this one came too late for Riku. When he again opened his eyes, under a different sky than that of Destiny Islands, Riku knew that he had dreamed a real dream. Nothing but a dream. It had never happened… for all the times he and Sora had shared on the Paopu Island, he couldn't remember that episode ever happening. And Riku was tired, tired of never knowing the difference between dream and memory. Memory and reality. It had been so, so long since the last time something had felt entirely real…

Too long.

He wanted to wake up. And he wanted… ah. He wanted something –someone- that was lost.

·§·

Next to Riku, another slumbering figure stirred. "Another nightmare, Riku?" He asked, gently.

"No, Your Majesty. Just a dream," Riku replied with a sad smile.

"Ah," the King nodded. "You've been having many dreams lately."

"Yes. But I prefer them to the nightmares," the young man paused, pensively. "Those seem mostly gone now."

"That's good, Riku," the King said, leaping to his feet. "Actually, no. That's wonderful!" he chirped. "I've been waiting for this."

Riku frowned. "Waiting for what, Mickey?"

But the King was moving forward down the path nearest to them, beckoning Riku to follow him. "Come. Dawn is near," he said over his shoulder.

§···§···§

The reunion had been unexpected. Sora's companions had launched themselves on to their King and in the blink of an eye, the three of them had been chattering animatedly. Or actually, Donald and Goofy were blabbering both at once while the King listened to them patiently.

Riku had used the first moments of disorder to study Sora, fully aware that he was being inspected as well, but unable to take his eyes off the younger boy. Gone was the impish grin that formed a dimple on his cheek, gone was the red jumpsuit and the big, yellow shoes; a sober smile and darker clothing had replaced them. But the eyes were the same, Riku noted with delight. The same limpid shade of sky blue. Windows to the soul, indeed.

The King had dragged his friends a little way ahead of the path, correctly suspecting that Riku and Sora's reunion would not be as smooth as it had been for himself and his friends.

Riku was grateful, as always, for having the King there with him. Soon as they were gone out of earshot, Riku placed all his attention on Sora. The silence between them kept lengthening, so the older teen took a step forward, right hand outstretched and—

"Riku."

The childish trill was gone, too, and an adult spoke with Sora's voice. Riku stopped, uncertain. He hadn't expected for Sora to make the first move, but he locked eyes with his old friend and crossing his arms over his chest, Riku waited.

"You look different," Sora said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"So do you," retorted Riku, with a nod of acknowledgement.

Sora shrugged. "I guess, but then… it's been a long time." A shadow crossed his face and he looked away, fingers fiddling idly with the crown pendant at his neck.

Riku closed his eyes. It had been far too long. Instead he said, "But it feels like yesterday that I saw you last. In the pod at Castle Oblivion…" He trailed off, not sure of how much did Sora remember about that.

Sora blinked. "I only remember you at Kingdom Hearts, when we closed the door. But there are some things that are hazy… There was this girl, Naminé, she said I would remember everything once I found my light."

Riku bowed his head. Of course, Sora wouldn't remember much about Castle Oblivion. He had chosen to regain his past memories, while Riku had decided to go on and let what memories were important enough come to him. Well, that had certainly turned out to be difficult to handle.

"Never mind, then. I'm just glad you're here, Sora."

§···§···§


	5. Flawed

·§·§·§·

"Because you remind me of her." He had growled at long last, tired of the girl's inane questions and remarks. Yuffie had gaped at him, mumbled something unintelligible and left the waterway.

The cave was silent now, only the sounds of churning water resonating on the man's ears. Sitting on the ground, back against the damp stone, Leon tilted back his head, eyes closed, letting his fingers uncurl from their steely grip on the gunblade.

Everything had felt so heavy, suddenly. His belts, his jacket, his weapon –Griever around his neck had felt doubly so. He had then shed every item, dropping them all on a neat pile nearby, where he could watch it all with detachment.

The silvery pendant seemed to wink at him from the top of the heap. A frown rippled through his smooth features; without everything that made him Leon, he was Squall again. He was 17 and _she_ was there, laughing at him, mocking his seriousness, that damn stoicism.

"That's your only flaw," she had said, winking. "You can't smile."

Eventually, he had proven her wrong.

·§·§·§·


	6. Sound

·§·§·§·

Everything was silent. A blanket of soundlessness had fallen over this world, it seemed. Silence Sora had learned to associate with the eerie atmosphere of Hollow Bastion. The dark corridors and the deep chambers: dead, forgotten, profoundly asleep.

Sora looked up, craning his neck as far back as it would go. The rain had stopped, but the tall buildings still glistened, wet. Bright neon signs and large screens greeted his sight, silent witnesses of Sora's leisure stroll through the paved streets.

The young man came to a stop in front of a building where a neon star –or was it a paopu?—blared its light, unblinking. He looked down, feeling his feet suddenly damp; he had stepped onto a puddle and splashed water all around, but it hadn't made a single sound.

Bewildered, Sora stepped more forcefully into the puddle. Nothing. Agitated, he tried his voice, but no sound came. Or rather, he couldn't hear it; he had definitely felt his vocal chords vibrate. At that, something icy flood filled his gut and Sora realized it was fear.

Was he deaf? It couldn't be—could it?

As this awful realization hit him, sending wrenching shudders down his spine, a dark figure stepped into Sora's vision field and stood still, only a few feet away, in the middle of the soggy street. Sora tensed; it seemed to be a cloaked man, not a heartless, but he couldn't be sure and now he couldn't hear, and and—

"We all lose something here, Sora," said a very peculiar, very familiar voice from the depths of the hood. Sora gave an involuntary step forward.

"Riku!" His voice said, but he heard nothing. Puzzled, Sora halted, raising a trembling hand to his left ear. Odd that, he had heard Riku's voice so clearly… He looked up in time to see the man draw back his trenchcoat's hood, revealing a mop of very pale hair. He was definitely Riku and he seemed to be wearing a blindfold, of sorts.

Two very distinct feelings surged on Sora's mind; he didn't know what to react to first. Here Riku was, he had found him at last, but…

"Why can't I hear myself?"

"We all lose something," repeated Riku, taking a steady step forward. "You're deaf, Sora." He sounded pained.

Sora shook his head; his previous certainty had given over to denial. "No, I can still hear you!"

The shadow of a smile ghosted over Riku's lips as he raised one gloved hand to remove the blindfold. Sea-green eyes glinted in the neon light as he focused them on Sora.

"Just as I can still see you."

·§·§·§·


	7. Distance

·§·§·§·

The distance between us…

…is a mere three feet. Not important. Inconsequential.

She sits there with her sketchbook and draws. I watch from the shadows, something akin to curiosity stirring within me.

"Are you drawing more memories?"

"Yes," she replies, eyes never leaving the paper. "Marluxia wants new ones… for an experiment," she adds, and her voice is laced with pain and regret.

I get up and peer over her shoulder, marveling at the life-like quality of the figures sketched there. "Are those for the Keyblade Master?"

Naminé's pencil stops moving across the paper, her hand lays motionless but tense still. The faces of her last drawing are still blank, but the rest is awfully detailed; there's no mistaking the characters depicted there.

"No, these are for Riku."

I stiffen at the mention of my unwitting twin.

"What's the experiment, then?" That revolving feeling of near curiosity, returns now. I still can't see her face, but I know she's close to tears; her shoulder blades twitch and her head is bowed. I take one more step and put my arms around her.

"Tell me."

Her head swivels, but she doesn't push me away yet. "Marluxia wants to see what would happen if—if they thought they were more than friends," her voice is a thready whisper, and there's no definitive emotion in it.

"Ah," I sigh into her hair. The distance between us is nonexistent now, but it's still an illusion. Just like with Real Thing and the Keyblade Master. Naminé's drawn them really close, touching even, but in reality they remain worlds apart.

·§·§·§·


	8. Fireworks

·§·§·§·

"Kairi, your shoes will get wet." A pause. "Kairi? You're standing on the water, your shoes…"

I blink. Selphie can't really know.

"Are you thinking about Sora again?"

Oh well, maybe she can. "I'm thinking about both of them, Selph," I say.

"Oh." She doesn't say anything else, choosing to retreat quietly instead, which is rare for her. I look down, she's right, my shoes will get wet and they're the only pair I own for school. But I don't step back. I raise my eyes again and watch the waves.

I didn't lie, I am thinking about them both. It's Riku's birthday today. Wherever he is, he's 16 now and we're not with him for it. It was a tradition we had, Sora and Riku and me. Possibly because he was older, we paid more attention to his birthday than we did ours. And even in the later years, when we thought of ourselves as grown ups, not children anymore, that tradition still held on.

A particular memory springs right at me, as I knew it would.

"_Riku, look! Happy birthday!" Sora's voice squeaks slightly, but he's only 10, that's still allowed. He's clutching at Riku's yellow t-shirt as he drops something on his friend's hand. "Kairi found it behind the shack. Isn't it cool? We can light it tonight!"_

_Aqua eyes widen in excitement as the now 11 year old recognizes what lies on his palm. "Sora, this is great! Thank you," he says, a bright smile across his face. Then he remembers they're not a duo anymore and turns to the girl. "Kairi, thanks." The smile is still sincere, if maybe not as bright. She blushes a bit, Riku almost never smiles at her, she feels special._

_That same night, on the islet with the bent paopu-tree, the three friends crouch around the short fuse and then dash away quickly, soon as it catches fire. A soft whistle escapes the older boy's lips as they sit back to enjoy the brief play of lights that lits the dark sky, shining down on them, brighter than any star. _

"_Thanks, guys," Riku whispers, arms around Sora and Kairi's shoulders. "Best fireworks I've ever seen." And the lights on the sky reflect on their upturned eyes._

I close my eyes, smiling and seeing the fireworks again behind my eyelids. I tell myself that I don't miss my childhood, nor my friends. Only the fireworks.

·§·§·§·


	9. Dual

·§·§·§·

He's out there, bathed in moonlight and starlight, swinging that blade like his life depended on it. Or perhaps the life of others. One other. But there's nothing and no one to defend now. The arena is empty save for him, the vacant stands the only witnesses of this battle.

A battle with an invisible opponent, he's only fighting himself. The sandy ground surges forward, spraying grains all around as he dives, glides, slides, saving himself from the unseen attacks. He never pauses, knowing that only a second of hesitation could be his undoing. His opponent is as fierce and as skilled as he is, the perfect match, and he will never underestimate an adversary again.

The blade doesn't glint in the moonlight, the dark winged shape of it absorbs light rather than reflect it, and he likes it that way. He thinks it's a good analogy for himself: always trying to lure the light to him, wanting it for himself so no one else could have it. And nothing attracts light better than sheer darkness, it seems.

He calls a truce now, drawing his blade back, gently resting it on his shoulder. His opponent sneers at him from the depths of his mind; it wants him to keep fighting and stop musing about analogies, light and desires. And perhaps his challenger is right… His desires were –and still are- his only weaknesses.

He bows his head to stare at his feet, silvery hair falling messily around his face. His mind wanders, stomping down the jeers of his opponent. His light, the only one he wishes to have, is coming here tomorrow and they'll probably meet on this very arena. He'll swing with his dark blade and the other will parry with his gleaming keyblade. Like before. Like always.

His current contender prods him into action again and he assumes a battle stance, pausing there before launching into a flurry of attacks and blocks which both know very well. He's only fighting himself, after all. Possibly, this time he can even defeat himself before others do. Tame his darkness and obtain his light.

·§·§·§·


	10. Illusion

·§·§·§·

Resting was not easy when you were constantly plagued by dreams. Dreams that left you with the unmistakable feeling that they weren't only weird products of your fatigued mind.

Sora knew better.

The summer after his 14th birthday had been full of these kind of dreams and he had tried to brush them off, only to find not long afterwards that the dreams became mostly real; frighteningly real. Foreshadows of a dark time.

Of course then, Sora was not glad when the dreams returned. Chosen one or not, Sora felt he had done his share; done enough, and gotten little reward for doing so, mind you. Stranded in a world not his own, burdened with a bunch of old memories, and feeling –at all times- the absence of the two most important people in his life. Hardly fair, in Sora's opinion.

He sat up on the bed, rubbing his eyes frantically. The latest dream had left him with a specially bad after taste: that familiar and dreadful feeling of falling, falling forever, hitting the water below, opening his eyes and there they were…

The lax form of a heartless Kairi. And Riku. Riku wreathed in shadow, offering his hand out for Sora to take. Sora wanted nothing more than to take it… And on this last dream, Sora remembered the effort, the strain of trying to reach, the tips of his fingers burning when the shadows licked them, but it didn't matter.

One more step, only one more and their hands would meet.

"Riku!"

Riku's smirk grew more pronounced when Sora's hand slapped into his own, and he pulled Sora close to his side, wrapped both arms around the smaller boy and let the shadows swallow them both.

Sora got up and stalked to the bathroom, wanting and not wanting to recall the dream.

_Cold. Dark. Afraid._

_Warmth. Light. Safe._

How was it possible to feel all that at once?

The bathroom's mirror held no answers. Only the detached reflection of a face, a young and tired face. Round eyes, little nose, spiky hair. Sora.

Sora, Sora, Sora.

So-ra.

_So_ra. So_ra_.

People had always given different inflections to his name. Only Kairi and Riku had made it sound nice enough, always the same, familiar and pleasant.

"Sora!" Kairi's sweet trill. Excitement. Happy. Love.

"Sora…" Riku, rolling it on his tongue. Challenge. Pleased. Friend.

Sora left the bathroom and went back to the bedroom. The sun was pouring through the high windows. Another beautiful morning in… wherever they were. But there was something different today. Sora breathed in the cool, morning air and scanned the grounds below his window.

A sense of foreboding, stronger than those that came with the dreams, gripped Sora's mind and -almost unconsciously- he summoned the Keyblade. The reassuring weight of the steely handle materialized on his waiting hand and he curled his fingers tightly around it.

Sora closed his eyes. 'When I open them again, it'll be there… the black spot on the ground… inky darkness.

'Heartless.'

And, indeed, when he slowly pried his eyelids open… there it was. Like black flames sprouting from the green grass. Amid them, a dark shape detached itself from the swirling mass. But it wasn't any form of Heartless Sora had ever encountered. Or was it?

Its head glinted under the pale sunlight and Sora's heart was suddenly beating wildly at his throat. He climbed to the windowsill and fully trusting the Keyblade to keep him safe, Sora flung himself out of the window and down on to the ground below.

Okay, landing on his feet would have been too much to ask for. Sora rolled onto himself as he hit the ground; the grass was wet and cold, same as the breeze, and he had little clothing on, no shoes, and no, the Keyblade wouldn't keep him from being cold. Damn it, he better run.

He sprinted forward, adrenaline surging through his veins: he felt so alive, so awake. The darkness was no longer visible ahead, but there was definitely someone standing there. He felt a tingling sensation on his right hand: the Keyblade was thrumming, almost as if it were singing and Sora's heart was humming along.

As he came within six or five feet from the person standing amid the green field, Sora stopped, panting and unbelieving.

"Riku!"

The figure turned slowly around; half a smile etched on the perfect lips, silver hair framing the well-known face, slanted sea-green eyes boring right into Sora's.

"Sora…" he said, as he offered his right hand, stillness settling on to the rest of his body. Just like in Sora's mind, Sora's dreams, and Sora's heart. "Let's go home," Riku said, the half smile blooming on his lips.

Sora's breath hitched. His dream! His second chance… it was here, if he wanted to take it. And his hand was already moving forward, free. Free to grasp Riku's, if he could reach it this time.

And he did.

In one swift motion, Sora launched himself forward and clasped his hand on to Riku's.

For a second, they both stood there staring into each other's eyes; a sorrowful mix of light and dark, pain and joy. Sora and Riku. Riku and Sora. Like always. And around them, the world spun around, dark tendrils rose up to envelop them—

Heat like fire. Cold like ice.

--and then there was nothing. A blissful explosion of light melting into darkness.

Carried by the momentum of his dash, Sora stumbled and fell on his knees. His eyes were closed, but he almost expected to feel the grainy warmth of sand beneath his open palms, as he braced himself on the ground. Sand meant home. He strained his senses to hear the flow of the waves on the shore. The salty scent of the air… yes, home. Riku. Kairi.

"Riku?" he called, opening his eyes.

There was no beach. No paopu tree. No sky and no shore. Nothing in between.

And when the first bitter tears rolled out of his eyes, they fell on the grass below. In his hand, the Keyblade gave a mournful trill and vanished without its usual blue glow.

Sora hugged his knees to his chest, hiding his face on the crook of his arms and shivering. The cool morning breeze blew around him, carrying the sound of broken sobs out to the empty green plains of this unknown world.

·§·§·§·


	11. Hero

* * *

A/N: Sppeakers here are Riku and Mickey. Felt it was too confusing without clarification.

* * *

·§·§·§·

"Where is she?"

"Safe at home, I hope."

"Do you love her?"

"I have for as long as I can remember."

"Does she love you?"

"She says she does."

"Do you believe her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I trust her."

"Does she trust you?"

"I never asked her."

"Why not?"

"Never had to."

"Lucky."

"Who, me?"

"No. Her."

"I'm lucky, too."

"Oh?"

"I have her."

"I see."

"And you're lucky too."

"I wouldn't say so."

"I know, but I would."

"Why?"

"You have someone, too."

"I have nobody."

"He's not a nobody."

"…No, he's the only one who is."

"Then, you have him."

"No. He's no one's... and he's everybody's."

"Such is the fate of heroes."

·§·§·§·


	12. Silence

·§·§·§·

After many years of friendship with Tidus and Selphie, both of whom could chat themselves to sleep, and a few month's in Donald's company, Sora had learned to appreciate silence and the calm that came with it. Of course, by general rule, he preferred the company of his Trinity and the voices of his friends all around him, but on occasion, Sora liked—or needed—to get away by himself for a while.

As he sat on the hill in Halloween Town's graveyard, with its garden of tombs around, or as he floated about the hidden treasure in Ariel's cave, Sora felt the intangible presence of one absent friend. If he trained in the waterway of Traverse, where the only sounds were those of dripping water, or if he explored the ever-silent corridors and chambers of Hollow Bastion, Sora felt it, there in the silence, the other boy's company every step of the way.

It seemed fitting then, that when Sora had last seen his best friend, as the heavy doors closed and were locked, that deafening silence had ensued and Sora could no longer feel Riku's presence in it.

·§·§·§·


	13. Recognition

·§·§·§·

I touch your skin lightly with the tips of my fingers, watching closely for the dull, pearly-white tone set against my own darkened skin. My palm follows, tracing the contour of your shapely muscles; for all the times I've seen them rippling under your skin as they moved purposely… they're still now, a spell on them. When you slept, I used to do the same: my fingers would move on their own until your nerves reacted, a spark of motion just to let me know you were aware of my presence.

I think I always knew. When you glanced at me from under half-lidded eyes, when you smirked, when you shrugged at my questions. And I remember that one time when I fell asleep on your shoulder.

Uneven breathing… 

_The curve of your lips…_

_That warmth in my chest, that bubble…_

…

"_Wake up, Sora."_

Wake up. But it's you who's asleep now. And I have no time. No time and a lot of regrets.

"Wake up, Riku." My fingers stray over to your lax hair, brushing at the silvery strands. I always did like your hair, probably because it set you apart. Mine and Kairi's, and Selphie's and Tidus', and even Wakka's hair were awfully common. Unoriginal. Dull. But your head always glinted in the sunlight and I was at all times enthralled by it.

Enthralled by you. Yet, it was never enough for you, because you knew there could be something greater for the two of us. Why settle with the 'what ifs', when we could have the real thing? You were right, of course. But it'll never be more than a 'what if' now. Not for us.

"Riku." I hold on to your name, because that's all that is left now. Your name and the memory of your eyes.

I turn to the physician, my hands clenching into fists, short nails buried in the flesh of my palms. I open my mouth hoping my voice won't crack.

"It's him."

The man nods once and starts to pull the dreaded white sheet over your marble-like features. I turn to flee from the white room, fumble with the doorknob and run. I keep running down the hallway, outside, across the street, across the city. Are you waiting for me somewhere? Yes, you used to wait for me all the time, if only because you always got there first. And now you've beaten me again, Riku. But this time nobody won.

I stop when I reach the promenade that leads to the beach. The color of the sea is alluring as ever. Again I'm reminded of that time when I feel asleep on your shoulder and woke up in your arms.

"I'm awake now, Riku," I comment to the sea, but the breeze carries my words away. Maybe, if the breeze is strong enough, they'll reach you. So I speak again.

"It'll be the last time, I promise. Wait for me and then…" I pause, because my vision is suddenly blurred. "We'll go together."

·§·§·§·


	14. Taste

·§·§·§·

"Sometimes I wish I'd smoke."

"That's stupid, Riku. Why would you wanna smoke?"

"It's one of those things, you know. It looks cool, sort of... relaxing."

"Smokers smell and taste like crap. That's all I know."

"How would you know what a smoker tastes like, Sora? I know all the people you've ever kissed and none of them smokes."

"Yeah, um… well, there was this one time…"

"Yeah?"

"Uh… Kairi smokes. There, I've said it."

"She does? Huh, that's new. So when did you kiss her?"

"New Year's Eve."

"And?"

"And what?

"What did she taste like! Sora, are you even awake?"

"Well, uh… tasted like smoke. Acrid, sickly, bitter. Whatever. I didn't like it."

"Hmm."

"What's with the smug face?"

"No face. Just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"Aren't you glad I don't smoke, Sora?"

"Uh… yeah, sure, Riku."

"Would you mind if I did?"

"…"

"Even if you didn't have to kiss me?"

"Riku, what…"

"Would you?"

"Yeah, I guess I'd mind."

"Why?"

"Well, you'd smell like smoke, for starters. Told you, don't like smoke."

"And what else?"

"Uh, dunno… your teeth would get all yellowy. And you'd mess up a pair of perfectly good lungs."

"Aw, Sora, you'd care about my lungs?"

"Of course I would, Riku! What kind of question is that?"

"So what else you wouldn't like about me if I smoked?"

"Riku, this is pointless…"

"Indulge me, would you?"

"'Kay… Well, there's looks, smell and… taste. You'd taste like crap."

"And how would you know the difference, Sora?"

"Difference between what?"

"Between what I taste like now and what I'd taste like if I smoked."

"Dunno… I'd have to kiss you, I guess."

"…"

"Riku, what are you… mmmhpmhmh... wait, ahh… mmmm… nnnh…"

"So?"

"…"

"Sora?"

"…Promise me something, Riku…"

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll never smoke."

·§·§·§·


	15. Sensation

·§·§·§·

It swirls to the forefront of his mind, like the last dregs of a good dream when you first awake. But he knows he never dreams so vividly, so it must be something else—something not quite sane, irrational. Insane, because it pulls at his lips for the longest time until he gives in and sees the flash of his own smile, reflected in the other's large eyes.

This bubbling thing_—feeling? after so long?—_spreads then, from his mind to his belly, because it's huge and it won't fit unless he offers his whole body to it. And the feeling takes up on the offer and tricks him, shaking him, causing his knees to fold and his arms to flail.

Next to him, the King pulls his own hood back, revealing large ears and a face-splitting grin, but he barely notices this, because slender arms coil around him, forcefully burying his own face into a warm neck.

His own arms lift of their own volition to circle around not-so-slender shoulders and, he remembers. He remembers what it was like to feel like this all the time—_feel something, anything at all_—this involuntary, insane, irrational reaction to a pair of sky-blue eyes.

He swears to himself, he will not forget again.

·§·§·§·


	16. Truce

·§·§·§·

There had been grudging friendship after their initial discomfort. They had circled each other with words, eyes and hands; testing wit, valor and strength at every turn. One was as fair as the other was dark; one was slightly shorter but he made up for it with passion –a zealousness for life they both shared, but which the taller one kept hidden well within himself.

Their mutual friends had been wary of the possible outcomes of their relationship; if they became sworn enemies their little group would be split in half, sundered beyond alliance. But if the two ringleaders made a pact they would all operate together and everyone knew, the larger the group, double the fun.

In the end, it had been neither. Nor friends, nor enemies. The unspoken agreement between the two boys kept everyone on tenterhooks: whenever those two came across the other… would a brawl erupt or would they nod polite greetings and carry on? Both gangs found direct amusement in predicting their reclusive leaders' next moves.

As the years grew long the chances of a brawl diminished and the polite greeting became the norm, even going as far agreeing to share playgrounds, combine forces and plot together. And when the playground was abandoned for the training field, both boys would oft be seen sparring together, no ill will directing the elegant movements of their respective weapons.

However, when Darkness came, fate found them apart and forced them to their own choices with the mocking cruelty of life. Neither of them thought about the other for a long, long time; their minds swept over with their personal misery.

So, when they met again, blades drawn and eyes wild, neither the brawl nor the polite greeting ensued. Instead, a slow, reluctant and tight-lipped smile graced their equally stolid features, as they assumed positions back to back, to engage mutual enemies.

A truce had been called between lion and wolf.

·§·§·§·


	17. Waves

§·§·§

He lies back on the cool sand and closes his eyes, waiting. He waits until he is able to recall the sloshing sound of waves crashing on the shore of a far away island; in his mind is ever clear, that loving caress of water on sand, relentless and soothing like his own steady breathing.

The sand beneath his fingertips is cool and fine, a silken embrace; sundown was many hours ago and the breeze ruffling his clothes has no scent, nothing to distract his fevered mind from his nightly pastime.

As his ears fill with the sound of the ocean, he remembers another night not that long ago, but a lifetime past, when he laid on the sand like this, starlight above and the sea around him. He had recognized his best friend in the telling jingle of belts and zippers, as he approached carefully to the prone form laying on the beach –much like now- spread-eagled and feigning sleep. The other boy had sat down next to him and tried his name a few times, convincing himself that he was really asleep.

He wasn't. But he had pretended anyway.

Time had stretched on, only the sound of the rolling waves to lull him into grudging relaxation, until he had heard –felt, actually—the sand shift near his body, alerting him of his friend's movement. A few moments had passed, where he dared not open his eyes, some primal instinct keeping him where he was; the other's presence had been barely noticeable, hovering above him, hesitant to the point where he felt that curiosity would make him finally open his eyes.

An eternity went by until he felt the slightest rustle of clothes, a sigh of warmer air on his face and then -feather light and infinitely cautious—the barest touch on his slightly parted lips.

He had stilled himself further, sure that he would not be able to remain motionless much longer, not when he now had the certainty that the exhilarating touch had come from another set of lips. Yet, his body submitted to his will, even as his heartbeat seemed to have sped up to triple rate.

He was rewarded with slight more pressure, before the touch was withdrawn along with the presence of his best friend, the familiar jingle of metal on metal shattering the steady backdrop of water kissing sand.

They had never mentioned this particular episode to each other, but now, as he lies sleepless on the beach of a different world, his mind insists he replay it to lure sleep. He does, wondering idly if the Keyblade Master knows –wherever he is—that on that night he stole Riku's first kiss.

When he opens his eyes to stare at the starless night of this world with no name, where the water is still and the breeze scentless, he also wonders if one day Sora could be convinced to steal a second, or even a third…

…and when real sleep comes, his heart beats steadily, like advancing and receding water on sand.

§·§·§


	18. Echo

§.§.§

It echoes in the hollow chambers of their forgotten castle, bounces off the walls and makes them all a bit more comfortable with their non-life and their non-existence. They all seek him out, secretly or openly, find what makes him tick; what will trigger off that intriguing sound that reverberates in their non-hearts, casting a somewhat warm glow in their minds.

They are not always successful in their quest to make him laugh, because he is not entirely unlike them—empty, hollow, a piece of something greater—and he is also prone to some moodiness, some silent brooding that seems to overtake him more and more these days.

Of them all, however, he is the only one who resembles his 'other' the most, so maybe that's why laughter comes easier to him; of them all, he is the only one who can hope to meet his counterpart, to ever be whole again, and that makes the others just this side of jealous.

It is when he laughs that they forget about the need that drives them; it is when that foreign sound reaches them in their individual and well-guarded occupations, that they stop and listen, as one, to Roxas laugh.

They can't ever know that it is but a borrowed sound and that Roxas laughs only when _he_ laughs, at the antics of his friends and companions—in some far away world, for some unfathomed reason—and it echoes through Roxas' being and beyond, reaching out to nobody and everybody.

§·§·§


	19. Liar

§·§·§

He convinces himself that it's not really a prison, that he's not really limited to this tiny strip of land; there's mainland just half an hour away and, should he want it, there's an easy way out of the mainland and the world. Mickey made sure he knew there would always be an easy way out; he's thankful to the King for that. He is thankful for many things the King gave him and helped him get.

He convinces himself that there is peace in this sort of life, with the sealing of the worlds and the return to their home. His parents were so glad to see him, they had thought him dead or lost forever; he's grateful for their love, but it's also the first time he truly felt it. He is grateful for their promises of care and love and a future.

He convinces himself that his friends are truly safe, that nothing more will disrupt their lives and their homes. He will never forget how Kairi stuck by him, how she made Sora believe; he'll never forget that moment of reunion, of unity and friendship. He knows that what they have now is stronger than it ever was and it will not be broken, not for anything. It is a very pleasant feeling, not being alone, having them to rely on.

So, he closes his eyes and convinces himself that he is happy to be back, that he is happy to be sitting on this trunk again; that he is happy that everything is over and they are all whole again, ready to start anew.

Of course, the flicker of pleasure and excitement he feels when he sees the bottle with the message inside, tells him that he hasn't done a good job of convincing himself.

§·§·§


	20. Nobody

§·§·§

There's no recognition in his eyes. They're wide and blue and Sora's, but they're blank with indifference. When Axel issues the challenge, the eyes narrow and the boy nods, gripping his weapon tighter, but there's still no recognition.

"Why are you pretending?" Axel asks, truly puzzled.

"Pretending to what?"

"That you don't know who you are. This place, this town, these kids… what are you playing at, Roxas?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispers, straightening up. The Keyblade is gone.

Axel shakes his head, twirling one of his weapons around; a lazy, nonchalant gesture. Roxas blinks, following the movement of the deadly spikes.

"Hmm, I see," Axel hums thoughtfully and his hands curl into fists, the discs gone. "Well, then, if this is how we're going to play…" The hood of his coat comes up and darkness swirls on the wall behind him.

"Wait!" Roxas takes a step forward, but he doesn't really know what he wants. "Who are you?"

The pale face is shadowed and the red hair isn't visible, but Roxas catches the glimpse of a smirk, before the man melts into the wall.

"I'm nobody."

§·§·§


End file.
